Just like him

I usually do not find much motivation to express thoughts about Sachin Tendulkar. So much is written, spoken, and analyzed about him, I bet there wouldn't be anything new to add. Another few hundred words from me would just add to the garbage I feel. I anyway hate to go with the masses; it irritates me no end when I hear/read people addressing him as "God". Not because I don't like Tendulkar, it's because people's mentality of idol worship for an individual freaks me out no end. And I pride myself on staying away from such craze. 

In the last few days however, the media and social network frenzy about Tendulkar has been something that you can't shun yourself off. It urged me today to make a youtube trip and watch some of his innings, mostly from the 90's. Being a die hard fan that I used to be, I remembered all of those innings. And the nostalgia of reliving some of those memories makes me express my thoughts about him. "My 2 cents" as they say.

I have a lot to complain about Tendulkar the cricketer. People called him the best batsman of our times but I would always argue against that, mostly based off his performances in test cricket.
He would pull down the shutters and get very defensive when the end of a test match session, or end of day's play, was nearing. He would also get overly defensive when nearing milestones, like during several of his centuries. This attitude of his, hurt the team. It hurt Tendulkar himself, he would lose his rhythm and get out.

At times, he would seem to overly complicate simple things against a slew of slow medium pace bowlers and ordinary spinners. He would seem to give undue respect to too many bowlers and score very slowly. One would feel frustrated about how he could face an Allan Donald with such ease and then struggle against a Hansie Cronje.

One always got the feeling that he was more than capable as a leg spin bowler. Why then could he not contribute more with the ball? Had he done more of that for the team, the team would have got a genuine all rounder and that would have helped the team immensely.

I therefore asked myself why, why is it that this guy still occupied a special place in my life! Why do I feel sad today when he is retiring?

After some thought I got my answer: In some way, at a lesser magnitude of course, I thought of myself as similar to him - I find it tough to get work done in office on Friday's or even late in the evenings. Lot of time during this time inevitably gets spent on Facebook and I invariably end up "playing for stumps", just like he pulls down the shutter when end of day is approaching. In my school days I didn't do well in quite a few exams in spite of preparing well just because the pressure got to me and I got too anxious, just like he seems to get nervous when approaching milestones. My team expects me to work on stretch goals to add more value to the team and it is tough to keep up with those expectations, just like he found it tough to contribute consistently to the team as a bowler in spite of having the talent. And my habit of over analyzing and over complicating simple things, just like his, have been a major problem in life throughout!

Long story short, I liked him not because he was "God", but because he was human. Unknowingly, I had modeled my game (read tried to model my life) just like his!

He would put his heart and soul into his work. He would work tremendously hard to get better at his skill. On a given day, he may or may not have succeeded (he succeeded more often than not), but he would give it everything, you could not doubt his effort. He would hate to lose but would never go the wrong path to win. 

May sound bombastic here, but I tried to base my own life on these very traits/principles ...... just like him. If these principles were to ever have a face, then I feel it would be Sachin Tendulkar's; for he epitomized these very traits ever since I began to understand somewhat little about this thing called life.

Then there were some of his other traits - He was a typical marathi middle class boy who earned the riches but yet never compromised on his principles, never forgot his roots, and remained ever grateful to all the people who helped him along the way. He was a foodie, loved good clothes, but deep inside he was still the same middle class boy. He was always aggressive but never brash. He was shy and awkward in public but a complete brat when with family/friends. He loved playing cheeky shots, he broke a lot of windows in his colony during "half-pitch" cricket (seriously, would kids in India today ever get to play "galli" cricket and break windows! Does a Xbox Kinect provide the same thrill!). Again, can't help but relate to some of these traits of his.

Tendulkar's next big contribution was that he spread joy in the lives of people at times when there wasn't much to look forward to. He made his debut long before there were any shopping malls, multiplexes, and international standard restaurants and coffee shops in the country. Entertainment options for the masses were few and far during those times but Tendulkar was the savior. Yes, he may have batted slow in tests  approaching milestones, he may not have been able to win as many matches on his own for India as one would have liked. But the joy he gave to everyone in the 1990s with his magical batting, the smiles he put on everyone's face, the way he brought the whole nation together when times in general were tough in India, is all unbelievable and undescribable. Dravid/Ganguly/Laxman/Sehwag's time started well after India had already started to announce itself on the global circuit. Tendulkar though was the face, the commonality, between India's transition from an almost under developed country to a fast developing nation.

Overall, I realize today that I may never be able to convince myself one way or the other whether Tendulkar was the greatest batsman of my generation. But one thing is certain. Unknowingly he has been one of the most impactful individuals in my life, and perhaps in the life of countless others in India. He has not only entertained us and given us joy, but has epitomized for us the ideologies which have formed the basis of our lives. Such has been his contribution; not just limited to cricket but he has been a super hero of a billion people nation, like no one else ever has.

Suddenly now, Gavaskar's tribute to Tendulkar yesterday doesn't sound as silly to me: Sachin Ramesh Tendulkar - Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Mt. Hood - The first step

In the first week of May, I committed to climbing Mt. Rainier this summer. Next, it was time to get down to business: Training for the big climb. I was doing reasonably well as far as the weekend training hikes were concerned. But no technical climbs had been attempted, or even thought of, by Mid May. 

That is when I started to think seriously about Mt. Hood. Like Rainier, but to a slightly lesser extent, climbing Mt. Hood had always been on my To Do list. At 11,249 ft. it is the tallest mountain in Oregon. Therefore, climbing Hood in itself was an interesting prospect and summiting it would be no mean feat I thought. Plus it was a technical climb, the experience of which would serve me well for Rainier. And needless to say, there was the incentive to gauge where I was with respect to my Rainier preparation.

The plan was finalized, a 2 day climb with Timberline Mountain Guides was booked for the weekend of May 18-19. On May 17, having the luxury of a day off from work that day, I walked into REI in the morning to buy all the gear that was missing from my kit. Which included the kit itself, shoes, woolen socks, crampons, base layers, fleece, puffy jacket, rain jacket, rain pants, gloves, mittens .... and the list goes on. About 6 hours after getting in, I walked out of REI with all the gear that was needed, feeling very light on my wallet (Another factor that makes mountain climbing a challenge. It requires a lot of time and money). That said, I was "all set" for the climb, and felt well prepared.

About the actual climb: The good thing was that I was able to summit :), return down safely, and the views we got during the climb were simply breathtaking. 

Some of the pictures from the climb are here

The not so good thing was that the climb turned out to be *extremely* tough, and in a way, it was demoralizing. It was much much tougher than I had originally anticipated: Although known to be treacherous, the climb itself was less than 4000 ft., and did not require any snow camping. Statistically, I had originally thought, I should be able to do it without much discomfort given that I was already training on weekends. But I was wrong. There were a number of factors that I hadn't even thought of, which came to the forefront:

1. Hiking in the night is a completely different ball game 

Alpine starts involve starting the climb by midnight, or very early in the morning. As much as one tries to get a few hours of sleep before the start, it usually doesn't work out for beginners because of the nervousness/anxiety/adrenaline. Besides, alpine start causes body clock to go haywire. Its the same feeling as feeling jet lagged. Climbing a mountain in that state, in extreme cold weather, with rain, snow, and wind is far from an enticing prospect (We'd started the climb at 1 am, I had an almost sleepless night before that, the temperature was 18 F when we started, with 20 mph winds, and freezing rain and snow).

2. Trivial things such as drinking water, using rest room, become problematic

Water bottles have to be typically kept wrapped up in a puffy jacket inside the back pack, so as to prevent the water from freezing. Because of the cold, it is a big overhead to remove gloves, open back pack, get the water out and drink. One typically hesitates to do that. And drinking less water means quicker dehydration and tiring faster. In general, no matter how good a back pack one has, it is very inconvenient to open the back pack (I had to open it at least 10 times during the whole climb) for water, snack, putting on additional gear etc.

About restrooms, firstly the mountain has no restrooms. Peeing becomes extremely inconvenient because as if the lack of dexterity caused by cold and wearing of gloves is not enough, there are the 3 layers of pants and a harness to take care of if one has to pee (Cold weather means frequent urination, and trying to fight the urge to urinate made things even harder for me :)).

3. Have to know very well how to use your gear

Buying all the right gear is one thing. But knowing how to use it is completely another. Learning how to wear a harness, or a helmet, and crampons, in the cold confines of the mountain is extremely challenging (I struggled to use my brand new gear from REI. I should have bought it much earlier and should have used it once or twice before using it on the climb).

4. You can't take your own sweet time to summit the mountain

In most of my hikes, I walk at my own pace without bothering how slow or fast my peers are going. Climbing on the mountain is different. You have to be precisely as fast as the others on your rope team (In my rope team, I was the slowest member and had a hard time keeping up pace with others on the team, tiring me out immensely).

5. Getting down is as difficult as, if not more difficult than, getting up

On the way up, one usually tends to go slow which inherently results in more caution. When coming down, in general, one tends to go faster because of which chances of slipping are quite high. Getting down therefore needs more control and more patience at a time when you're totally out of patience (After summiting, I was too tired and in a hurry to get down. In the haste, I slipped quite a few times (dangerously once), but was fortunate to escape unscathed).

6. Not using sunscreen when in snow is unforgivable

Throughout our climb, the weather was wet and cold with dense fog. So there wasn't any sun protection required, right? Mistake. Big mistake. I got badly sun burnt throughout the climb. That was a rude shock. My face was barely recognizable in the mirror that evening.

Thus went the climb. There were these lessons learnt but I remember thinking, as I was descending down, that there was no way I was going to be able to summit Rainier which was at least twice as difficult as Hood. Moreover, I thought I did not enjoy this technical mountain climbing experience. It was too strenuous. I kept asking myself why was I doing all this. Why was I wasting my energy, time, and money putting myself through all this, when I could have been sleeping comfortably in my bed over the weekend. 

I had to seek answers to these questions and clear my self doubts if I had to harbor any hopes to summit Rainier. That was going to be the goal, and a P1 for me, in the next few weeks.

To climb or not to climb

Over the last 3-4 years, we'd hiked a lot around Mt. Rainier. We were awe struck by the magnificence of the mountain, madly in love with it. To us, the mountain was god .... and its pinnacle the holy grail. To me, the hike to Mt. Rainier summit was a pilgrimage that every Seattelite must undertake atleast once in his/her life.

 

Earlier this year, an opportunity knocked. Asha, a non profit organization, were providing a guided climb for interested folks in July. The hike to the summit is not easy though. As a matter of fact, its not a hike at all. Its a climb: Hike is non-technical, just normal walking on slightly steeper topographies, with no special gear requirement. Climbing is technical, requires special gear, and special training to learn how to use the gear. Mt. Rainier climb requires gaining considerable fitness, which in turn requires a 6-month training regime. Team Asha guides required a firm Yes/No confirmation about commitment to climb with them this year, by the first week of May 

 

It was the 4th of May, I remember, and I was still pondering whether or not to commit to the climb. During our CrossRoads lunch hour, I tried to persuade my hiking enthusiastic friends into committing to the climb. If they were in for the plan, the decision would have been a no brainer: I would have had to do it then because they were doing it, peer pressure you see :). But turned out, that for various reasons, they did not want to commit to the climb this year.

 

So then, the ball was in my court and I had to again put on my decision making hat. I began to ponder: Given that my friends were not doing it, should I back out as well? Or should I do it alone? Do I have it in me to train day in day out every weekend for the next 3 months? Do I have the time, is there enough motivation?
Mind you though, I was already half way there. Since February, I had been hiking on weekends to gain fitness, so why was it going to be very different doing the same thing between May to July? One difference was commitment pressure: Hiking without commitment is similar to dating a girl or having a live in relationship, hiking with commitment is like marriage :). Second difference was the circumstances. I thought things had changed a bit between January and May.

 

Coming to the point though, I was still confused, not sure about what I should do. I thought long and hard, and eventually came to a conclusion. Firstly, I'd always thought that I was mentally strong enough to survive any situation, mentally I wouldn't break easily. Now if I could also gain the toughness to brave any physical challenges, then I thought that the combination would help me survive anything/anywhere. Secondly, I'd always wanted to let go of this thing called peer pressure. I thought now it was even more imperative for me to not base decisions on others, one should learn to survive and thrive on his/her own if need be. And then finally, I always desperately wanted to summit Mt. Rainier some day. Then why not this year! I had already done the hard work of gaining fitness the past 3 months, and had the time (and fortunately the money) to practice more now. It was just a question of having the discipline to follow a strict regime for the next 3 months, which was also anyway a need of the hour for me.

 

The decision was made. The commitment forms were submitted.

On one hand, I was confident that the decision was the right one because it was made rationally, with sound intent, and keeping the right principles in mind. But admittedly, from the core of my heart, I was still feeling apprehensive and scared of doing this alone. But then again, brain was the boss here. For a change, I kept my heart at bay and let my brain do the thinking. Something that I should have learnt to do years back.
 

The most difficult hike of my life

I've always been a summer hiker. With sun on my back, I seldom thought hiking to be a challenge. In fact, to me, hiking always seemed to be a pleasure.

This year though has been different. I haven't had the luxury of "summer" like conditions. I've had to hike in cold, grey, winter like conditions with "storms" threatening to ruin my "hike". One such hike, and the most difficult one, was the one to Mailbox Peak on the 7th of April this year. 

The Mailbox peak hike is arguably the toughest hike in the Seattle I-90 corridor. It is tiring and taxing in even the most perfect conditions. In my case, what awaited that day was a "storm". Needless to say, the hike was going to be challenging.

Given the poor weather, I had to make a "decision": Should I brave the storm? Or shoud I abandon the hike? I decided to carry on with my hike, and to not let the storm disrupt my plans. The decision was made keeping the longer term in mind. Yes, it would be tough and challenging in the short term tomorrow, but it is the right thing to do considering the more important climbs in the longer term future, I thought to myself.

I had an almost sleepless night, on the 6th of April. But nevertheless, I made sure that I was not late for the hike. At the trail head, the worst fears were realized: It was already pouring down heavily and the forecast wasn't looking promising. Thus, in less than ideal weather conditions, I started the hike. In no time, I was all drenched in the freezing rain. As I climbed altitude, the rain turned into snow, the muddy ground turned into a snow field. I started to feel extremely cold, I was shivering as I was walking along. To make matters worse, my fingers and toes started to get numb. At the beginning of the hike there were quite a few people who had started the hike together, but as the hike had progressed, everyone had kind of got dispersed. Thus, I was walking alone in that condition in the snow storm. Given my idle mind, and that my hands and feet were numb with almost no sensation, I felt like it was a bout of hypothermia. Exaggeration in hind sight, but seemed very probable to me at that time. By this time, I was probably a little more than half way up to the summit. It was again decision time for me: Should I continue to the summit or should I retreat back. I was cold and tired but not enough to give up just yet. I decided to continue. I summoned all the reserves of energy I had left in my body and started to climb quickly. I wanted to get to the top as fast as possible, and rush back down to asses possible damage to my numb hands and feet.

As I marched along, I started to assess my situation in this hike. I started to think what is making this hike so unpleasant and miserable. I thought maybe the conditions were just not suited to hiking. But then there were other folks, that same day and same time, who were climbing along without too much discomfort. I then thought maybe I was just not fit enough. But then again, just the week before, I had hiked with the same group of people and at that time I seemed to have been one of fittest of the lot. So what changed between now and then, I wondered. And I got back the answer. It was my "gear". The gear that I had was not meant for harsh weather. It didn't keep me dry, it didn't keep me warm, it didn't protect me when I needed it. I'd hiked with this gear before without any discomfort. But that was all in sunny weather. Today, when the weather had taken a turn for the worse, the gear had let me down. I kept cursing my gear as I climbed. But then I realized that it was my fault really. I had chosen the wrong gear for the wrong hike. My friends and guides had warned me about the gear at the time I went with it, but I'd ignored the warnings. I was paying for my own sins I thought.

Time passed, and after a grueling four hours or so I somehow managed to get to the summit. As a mark of reaching the summit, I opened the mail box there (hence the name Mailbox Peak btw). It felt like I had to "let go", drop something, leave something in that mail box. And I surely did: I left my inhibitions, my negative energy, my frustrations with the gear all there. The climb down turned out to be easier. More importantly, I reached back the trail head with no damage done to my hands and feet. Sensation returned as altitude decreased. I was relieved that I was safe, and happy that I did not abandon the hike in some of the toughest conditions I had ever encountered.

I returned home, had a shower, and then decided once and for all to let go of the gear and its thoughts. Next to follow that evening was a well deserved, filling dinner at IHop. At the dinner, I told my friends this story of my gear and the decision to part ways with it.

The previous night had been a sleepless one, but this night, after the eventful day, I managed to sleep well. It was an unforgettable hike.